


Iron

by IceCapsicle



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Children, Parents & Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceCapsicle/pseuds/IceCapsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony plays Hide and Seek in his father's office. Howard has had a long day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iron

Tony Stark liked to hide.

He liked it very much in fact. Hide and Seek was his favourite. His house was a grand house with many nooks and crannies in which he could conceal himself; he had the entire house at his disposal and knew all the best spots. There were 59 in total spanning five floors and there used to be 64 but he was big and tall and strong now and no longer fit into five of them. He knew to use them on rotation and to get as far away as possible from where he was last seen (once he hid outside but he got in big trouble after that) and sometimes he would return to the same place in the same week to outsmart his hunters. Tony was smart.

These games of Hide and Seek were largely played at the expense of his mother, who would frequently chastise him for running off to the ends of the earth, in particular before bath time or bedtime. While he got into trouble, Tony didn’t care; sleep was a waste of time and bath time, doubly so.

On this particular evening (April 27th, what had been a decidedly damp Wednesday), after having been subjected to instruction from the finest teachers New York State’s finest private school had to offer (several of whom Tony judged to be inadequate educators, leading to frequent reprimands for loudly exclaimed corrections during class) followed by a hearty dinner of homemade lasagne, Tony fled from his last known location to the third floor of the Stark manor’s west wing. The library, one guestroom and a rather cramped bathroom could be found on this floor but more importantly his father’s office and his father’s office held six prime locations for expert concealment.   

Tony made a calculated risk by pushing open the heavy wooden door, by stepping into the office; he was far less likely to be found in the room but could get into much bigger trouble depending on how his father was feeling and who caught him.

(Not as bad as the time he hid outside though – it took them three hours to find the right tree.)

The room was wallpapered deep red, with dark mahogany floorboards. There were several old paintings Tony could guess were probably worth a lot of money, a wide desk and a drinks cabinet containing multiple bottles of whiskey, port and gin. Two armchairs faced a coffee table and a large marble fireplace, which threw out a pleasant orange glow. Several bookshelves lined the walls, embracing titles like ‘Advanced Particle Theory’, ‘Multiphase Flow Dynamics’ and ‘Radioecological Testings of Nuclear Sites’ beside rows and rows of journals.

Tony made his way quickly to the window beside the desk and slipped behind the thick curtains. He positioned himself in a fold near the opening so he could still see the room. A draft leaked through from a gap by his ankles but he knew this was the best hiding spot in the room other than under the desk (and he didn’t want to chance that one).

He had predicted a long wait until someone entered the room but his father joined him not long after he had settled behind the curtains. Leaving the door ajar, Tony watched him stalk towards the drinks cabinet to retrieve a glass and decanter. A liberal amount of alcohol was poured and his father slumped into one of the armchairs.

Tony knew this was the time to slip away. There were many other hiding places, after all – ones where he wouldn’t be disturbing his father after a long hard day at work. He stepped out from behind the heavy fabric, treading as carefully as possible on the hardwood flooring.

His father was hunched over, face in palm. Tremors silently shook his shoulders. A hand darted under his nose to form a fist. He sniffed loudly.

But his father sat back suddenly. He caught sight of Tony, the deer caught in the headlights. “What are you doing in here?” His father’s voice sounded uneasy and stiff, like there was something stuck in his throat. Tony’s eyes dropped to the floor. He’d be grounded now. His toys and books would be taken away. He studied a whorl in a floorboard and waited for his scolding. “It’s late,” the voice continued. It lacked the anger Tony had expected and he risked a look.

His father’s tie was loosened around his neck and his hair looked messy, as if he had been running his hands through it. He was looking at him like he was a skittish animal and spoke coolly a moment later.

“Come and sit with me, Anthony.”

Tony studied all the variables: the tall leather armchair, the tick-tock tick-tock from the clock on the mantelpiece (twenty past ten, it said), the dwindling fire, his father’s generously filled whiskey glass… Would he get into even more trouble if he ran away now?

He pushed himself up onto the seat, legs not quite long enough to reach the floor. He had grown but not by that much.

They were silent for what felt like an age. With his mouth pressed into a thin line, Tony watched his father gaze into the embers of the dying fire, surveying the deep contours of his face.

The longer the silence continued – the fewer crackles sounded from the cooling cinders – the more Tony wondered whether his father was stuck, if he had been cursed like in Tony’s bedtime stories; the one where the girl pricks her finger and the whole castle is put under a spell and they don’t wake up until the prince comes along to kiss her awake. He wondered, then, whether he should fetch his mother. Maybe it worked the other way around. Maybe that would fix it.    

But his father had broken out of the spell on his own. He was studying Tony now, with hardened eyes.

“What is man’s most important metal?”

Tony recognised the test, the game they played. Tony knew his father wanted him to be the very best he could be. He would frequently ask him questions like this to see how clever he was. What is twelve multiplied by thirteen? What is the closest galaxy to us? What are the main organs of the human body? What are the parts of an atom? What were the causes of the First and Second World War? Who are the United States’ closest allies? Who are our enemies?

Each time Tony would respond to prove how he was becoming the best he could be.

“Iron,” he replied this time.

Tony was quite confident about his answer. He knew iron was an important metal because he had read about it in his science books. Its atomic symbol was Fe and its atomic number was 26 and it was in group 8 of the periodic table (he had the poster stuck up in his room). It made up a lot of the earth and it was extracted from the ground and was turned into lots of different and useful objects that could in turn make more different and useful objects.

“Correct,” his father nodded and pride burst in Tony’s chest. “Iron is strong, iron is tough, iron is resilient. It can do many different things for us; to possess it is to possess power. If anyone is to be successful on this great hunk of rock, they must have iron in their backbone.”

The fire made a loud pop in agreement.

Tony considered this. It didn’t sound very comfortable, to have a metal rod in your spine. He knew his father was successful – he was a famous and clever scientist, whom Tony often boasted about to the other children at school – but he also knew iron was a heavy metal and he knew you could be poisoned by heavy metals.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

Startling Tony, his father barked out a sharp, sour laugh. “Why, yes, sometimes. Sometimes it does.” His father went on, voice imbibing the bite of the whiskey. “Sometimes you spend half your life locked away in a laboratory. Sometimes you wind up building things that hurt a lot of people.” He took a slug from his glass and spoke so quietly Tony had to strain to listen. “Innocent people. Sometimes you can hardly live with yourself.

“I knew a man once. He was a good and kind and honest – the best man I ever knew. We helped make him strong and powerful – made him like iron – using science so he could help fight for us and save us. And he did. He saved us from a horrible future but we lost him deep in the ocean.” Tony fiddled with his hands in his lap. His father had never done this before and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“We look for him every year but iron can’t win against water, Anthony. It rusts and gets corrupted and is of no use.” He blinked something out of his eyes. “But iron is obstinate.” Tony could hear the lump in his voice being swallowed, pressed down. “It rusts, but people made of iron are unmoved because they have become a success. Because the world needs them. Because no one can live without them anymore.”

Tony felt his skin sticking to the leather of the seat. What was he supposed to say to that? Was this another one of his father’s tests?

“Go on with you,” his father muttered. The stiff voice Tony was used to had returned. “It’s time for your bed.”

“Will you tell me a story?” Tony asked tentatively, slowly climbing off the armchair. “About the man?”

Howard looked at him – a steady, cold gaze. Tony could feel his eyes boring into him, somehow burning him. He couldn’t meet his eyes any longer.

“On with you.” 

Tony Stark liked to hide but he knew when a game was over.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes people forget what Howard had to live through.  
> \- E


End file.
